


Share Your Road

by dotfic



Series: The Ketchup 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Impala, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas go out for cheeseburgers in the geographic center of the continental USA. (Established relationship).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Share Your Road

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Starminion for the location suggestions and Inplayruns for the beta read. Part of a planned series of fics set in “the Ketchup ‘verse,” an alternate timeline that diverges from canon around mid season 9 but also follows it somewhat. This one is set early in an alternate S11 and after “The fair acceptance”: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5819701

Sometimes, Dean’s arm itched where the mark used to be. That was the last traces left of it, after Dean did the final step in transferring its force into a container in Hell. Cas described the container as an “energy regimentation field,” which didn’t exactly clear things up, so Dean wasn’t quite sure how it worked. He just knew the mark’s influence was shut away, from him and the world.

But sometimes, his arm still itched.

He cranked the music up louder on the old boom box in the garage and turned back to the engine of the Ford coupe he’d been working on for a week, just because, to see if he could get it back into running condition. It was something to do until the next ghost or monster or demon pinged onto their radar.

Dean stopped and scratched his arm, leaving a greasy smear. His stomach growled, and Dean glanced up at the old clock on the wall. He hadn’t realized so much time had passed, hours.

In the library, Sam and Kevin were in the middle of an argument— _again_ —over the best way to reorganize the Men of Letters digital archives. 

“Alphabetical by type of creature.” Sam grabbed the laptop, scraping his chair closer to Kevin’s. His forehead was all serious and crinkly, like they were trying to stop an apocalypse not organize a filing system. “I’m telling you Kev, unless we organize it by genus, we’re not going to be able to find stuff later.“

“Yeah but then how’re we going to find all the notes relating to a particular event, that involved multiple creatures? So it’s gotta have some kind of chronological organization too. A sophisticated keyword search capability will help, but I think we need folders by event.” Kevin leaned back in his chair and stuck his dirty sneakers up on the table.

“Nerds,” Dean drawled at them as he went by, but he grinned, couldn’t help it. 

Sam seemed content, shoulders relaxed, despite all that seriousness. When Kevin stuck his tongue out at Dean, Sam grinned, dimpling, and that made Dean feel lighter too.

Kevin looked better, less gaunt, than he had a few days ago. They’d started working with him in the gym, teaching him how to punch and kick. Cas too. Although Cas hadn’t lost all his mojo, Dean figured it couldn’t hurt if he knew some basic hunter things.

A crumpled piece of paper hit Kevin in the nose. “Hey!”

“Alphabetical by creature,” Sam said. 

At least Kevin wasn’t so still in that hospital bed any more, with all of them wondering if he’d ever wake up. At least Sam was safe. At least Cas was himself and not stuck in another dimension or off being in over his head fighting a fruitless battle with angel politics.

Dean’s arm itched again. He went to the sink and washed the grease off his hands. Cas appeared behind him, reflected in the mirror, and Dean paused, water running over his fingers. 

He hadn’t kissed Cas in at least twenty-four hours and that was just _wrong_.

Switching off the water but not bothering to even dry his hands yet, Dean turned around, standing so close he could actually see the variations in the blue of Cas’s eyes. He leaned in and their mouths brushed together, noses bumping. 

It was amazing, how simple it was in the end, how _easy_ it was to sit down with Cas and ask him _please stay, finally, I just want you to stay_ , and Cas had nodded, very slowly. He hadn’t said anything but the surprise and happiness in his eyes wasn’t something Dean would forget any time soon, and then Cas moved into the bunker.

Cas was sometimes a complicated puzzle, or like trying to grip the wind. But sometimes Cas was just Cas and it was as simple as that.

Dean grabbed a towel and dried his hands.

“Hey,” he said. “Wanna get burgers for dinner and go for a drive with me?”

Cas said, “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Just like that.

* * *

Dean had thought it’d get messier and even more difficult now that he and Cas had started this particular thing going on between them. It had been years of resistance, after all, them butting heads or Cas not being there. There was good, too, cheeseburgers and laughter and Cas being his rope in many a hurricane, even if Cas had been the storm himself at times. 

But instead, Cas was pretty much still just Cas, only he was around a lot more often because Dean had asked him to be. The biggest change was Dean being able to touch Cas the way he wanted to.

They got in the Impala and drove in no particular direction. The sun was only just beginning to set, soft gold light settling over the fields and rise and swell of small hills. 

At a sign that read “WELCOME TO THE CENTER OF THE USA - Lebanon has souvenirs” Dean stopped the car and pulled over, not even sure why. He’d never really thought about Lebanon, KS containing the geographic center of the continental US. Maybe those old Men of Letters dudes built their bunker here for a reason.

He and Cas got out and walked, calf-deep in grasses, over to the sign. A couple of cows grazed beyond the wire fencing line. The sign looked battered, home-made. 

“This isn’t the exact spot,” Cas said. “There’s a marker in a public park.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Dean asked.

“I try to keep myself busy.” 

Cas had put aside wearing his trenchcoat and corporate-wear lately, yet even in soft, used jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and rumpled hair, he held himself with that same old touch of straight-backed angelic reserve. The gold light fell over his face as he squinted towards the setting sun and Dean thought about all the times Cas was lost (exploding, walking into a lake and gone, black streaking out into the water and a sodden trenchcoat heavy in Dean’s hands) and came back. That he was even there now still seemed new and tenuous. Dean reached out and closed his fingers around Cas’s wrist. 

“Yeah, Dean, I’m right here,” Cas said, turning towards Dean and touching his free hand to Dean’s face.

Cas gently traced the line of Dean’s jaw with a finger before he stepped in close and kissed him, making a quiet, contented sigh of want. 

Dean rubbed his thumb in circles against Cas’s wrist, over the hard knob of bone, tasting Cas’s tongue against his own. A breeze kicked up, rustling the grass around them.

“We should probably eat,” Cas said wryly, when Dean’s stomach growled.

As they headed back towards the car, Dean froze, and a split second after sensed Cas go very still beside him too. When he glanced over at Cas, he saw Cas had seen the same thing as Dean: a slim pale figure, a woman, dressed all in black, standing on a rise across the ribbon of highway.

“Damn. Those things are everywhere I go lately,” Dean said, trying to sound like it was ridiculous, a joke, as if the hair on the back of his neck wasn’t standing up.

“Charlie texted me this morning,” Cas said. “She hasn’t found out anything further about the reapers.” He moved so he was in front of Dean, blocking Dean from the view of the reaper as he continued to stare at the figure.

“Let’s eat, I’m hungry.” Dean walked quickly over to the Impala. He got in, starting the engine immediately, making Cas hurry to catch up and slide into the shotgun seat.

They found a small diner by the side of the road in a building that looked like it had been a farmhouse once. There was a swing-set out back and ducks swimming in a pond, water glimmering from sunset light. Instead of eating there, they got their burgers and fries and milkshakes to go, and Dean kept on driving, past farms and open fields, out to the middle of nowhere, oil pumps silhouetted against the sunset.

It wasn’t much, Dean though, but it was something—Sam and Kevin safe at the bunker, Charlie out there doing her thing (meeting up with Jody this week to deal with some kind of werewolf situation), Cas stopping his random orbit, at least for now. At least for now, they were all okay, as okay as they could be.

Dean’s arm itched again but he resisted the urge to scratch as he ate his cheeseburger. Next to him, Cas leaned against the Impala’s hood a bit more uncertainly, as if he were worried about leaving a blemish—as if he weren’t sure she was _his_ to lean on. Dean wasn’t sure how to convince Cas that it was okay, that the car had sheltered John, Mary, Sam, himself, Bobby, and she would shelter Cas too. 

“We will figure it out, about the reapers,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, okay.”

“Dean.” Cas put down his paper cup of fries and turned towards him. There was a ketchup smear at the corner of his mouth. “I know it scares you. To be completely honest, it scares me too.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.”

“But we’re going to figure out what’s happening and find a way to keep you safe.” Cas’s voice deepened. He was putting on his I’m-an-angel-of-the-lord face, and with the shadow of the oil pump in the distance behind him, against a burning red sky, Dean had to admit he did look kind of impressive, even wearing ratty old jeans and a t-shirt with his hair so messy.

And it was, actually, comforting. The itch on his arm subsided.

Cas’s stern angel mode was undermined a little by the ketchup smear, though. Dean raised his hand to wipe it away with his finger, then got a much, much better idea. He set his half-finished burger down in its wrapping on the Impala’s hood, leaned in, and licked the ketchup from the corner of Cas’s mouth.

For a moment Cas stared at him, startled, then he laughed, a quiet chuckle. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Cas do a full-on belly laugh. Grins, smirks, a soft snort weren’t that unusual, but getting Cas to laugh was like winning a prize. Fireflies appeared, blinking behind Cas, hovering over the grass.

Dean pulled Cas towards him, hand at the base of his back, and kissed him again, harder this time, then maneuvered them so Cas was pressed against the hood of the Impala, Dean rubbing hard against him. It seemed like Cas’s hands were everywhere—Dean’s hair, his jaw, his neck, sliding down to ruck up his shirt to run his fingers over Dean’s ribs, his chest. Dean’s skin jumped involuntarily at the touch. 

They hadn’t finished their burgers and their shakes were melting, drops of condensation forming on the Impala’s paint around the paper cups, but it really didn’t seem to matter. Cas tasted of salt and ketchup and Dean was growing so hard he ached. 

Dean moved his mouth down to Cas’s neck and started to lick and suck at the skin as Cas let out a soft low groan under his breath, saying Dean’s name. Then Cas’s fingers were eagerly fumbling at the waistband of Dean’s jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping. He wasn’t sure what Cas was planning to do, only that it would probably feel good, until Cas grabbed Dean and turned them so they switched positions, then went to his knees on the grass in front of him. 

Looking up at Dean, face shadowed in the growing twilight, Cas brushed his fingers over the tip of Dean’s cock, then ran them along the length. Dean sunk his fingers into Cas’s hair, muttering his name as Cas put his mouth over the tip of Dean’s cock, licking at the pre-come.

He stroked the length of Dean’s cock with his fingers, still teasing at the tip with his tongue, then underneath, his breath tickling against Dean’s skin. Then Cas slowly took Dean’s length in, fingers gripping Dean’s thighs to steady both of them. Dean let out a whimper before he could help himself, heartbeat thrumming in his ears, the pressure in his dick building.

The feel of Cas’s mouth full around him, hot and wet, and by now, familiar, nearly made Dean’s knees buckle. He held on tighter, grabbing at Cas’s hair, guiding him, urging him on with his hands and his voice.

“Cas…Cas… _fuck_ ,” Dean gasped out, as Cas took him in deeper. 

Cas made a noise, deep in his throat, that Dean felt from his dick up into the core of his chest.

This time Dean’s legs really did almost give out. He let go of Cas’s hair with one hand, resting his palm against the coolness of the Impala’s hood to steady himself. 

“Cas. Cas. I’m going to— _Cas—_ ” Dean came, heat and pleasure zinging through his body, and Cas didn’t bother pulling off just yet.

Feeling a bit shaky, Dean looked down again and saw that Cas had a disgustingly smug grin on his face. He licked his lips.

“Proud of yourself, are you?” Dean said.

“Oh, definitely.” Cas got to his feet, still smiling, his hair in chaotic disarray from Dean’s fingers and if that wasn’t one of the hottest things Dean had ever seen, well _shit._

Cas was visibly hard, bulging in his jeans. Dean hooked his fingers through a belt-loop and yanked, making Cas stumble towards him. Dean kissed him, tasting traces of himself, and cupped Cas’s erection through the denim, pressing and squeezing until Cas was moaning against Dean’s mouth.

“Say _please_ ,” Dean breathed.

“Dean, _please_ ,” Cas said, arching insistently into his touch, his voice a bit strangled. 

Unbuttoning Cas’s jeans and slowly sliding down the zipper, Dean ran his palm down over Cas’s stomach, tickling the hair of his treasure trail, then under the waistband of Cas’s briefs. He curled his fingers around Cas’s cock and Cas inhaled, sharp and fierce, fingers tightening at Dean’s waist. With his other hand, Dean tugged at the waistband of Cas’s jeans and briefs, pulling him free, and cupped his whole hand around Cas’s cock, using slow, firm strokes.

At times like these, with the heat radiating off Cas’s body, Dean thought maybe he was feeling a bit of Cas’s grace—or maybe it was just that he wanted to. But there was something about Cas, even low-powered as he was now, a hum of electric current beneath his skin. Dean put his mouth against the curve of Cas’s neck, touching his tongue to the skin, tasting the tangy residue of sweat, working Cas with a firm rhythm, teasing sometimes with his fingers. 

Cas moaned noisily, like he didn’t care if they heard him in Missouri.

“You like that?” Dean murmured against Cas’s neck.

“It’s…pretty good,” Cas said calmly. 

“How about this?” Dean flicked his thumb gently over the tip of Cas’s cock, then traced his finger along the vein beneath. 

“That…works too.” Cas’s voice had gone a bit thready now.

“I couldn’t quite catch that,” Dean said, squeezing gently.

“It’s…ah…yes that feels good, Dean.” Cas brushed his nose along the edge of Dean’s jaw, then kissed a line down Dean’s neck, and Dean actually felt his spent cock twitch a little at that.

Cas’s breathing grew more ragged as Dean quickened the pace of what his hand was doing. “You going to come for me?” Dean asked, voice low in Cas’s ear.

“Yes.”

“Now, Cas.”

He felt Cas’s body shudder, then the warmth of his come over his fingers as Cas groaned out his name. Dean was sorry the light was nearly gone so he couldn’t watch Cas’s face more clearly as he came.

They cleaned themselves using slightly greasy napkins and zipped up. Then Cas slumped against Dean, bones and muscles unexpectedly pliant. 

“Hey,” Dean said softly, surprised. “Hey, Cas.”

“I think the burgers and fries have probably gone cold,” Cas said, his tone practical as his arms slid around Dean.

“Probably.” Dean held Cas tightly back. 

They stood there like that for a while, prairie wind kicking up around them as the last of the sun’s light faded from the crimson sky, fireflies blinking in and out, the oil pumps turning to nothing but shadow-hulks in the distance.

Who knew for how long, but Cas was there now, slowed from his erratic journeys, weight and warmth heavy against him. 

Right now, it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mumford & Sons


End file.
